𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒏

Author’s POV

“Ms. Talia, today you have a business party to attend,” Azra her PA stated, her fingers swiping across the tablet screen.

Talia barely glancing up from her own phone offered a curt, “Okay... at what time?”

“It’s this evening, at six o’clock,” Azra replied her tone efficient. “Shall I remind the driver?”

“No,” Talia said, her gaze still fixed on her phone. “I’ll drive myself tonight.”

Azra hesitated for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Okay Ms. Talia.”

Talia nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and with a subtle flick of her wrist, gestured for Azra to leave. Azra, accustomed to Talia’s non-verbal cues, turned and exited the spacious cabin.

Talia finally rose from her imposing leather chair, her phone already pressed to her ear. “Arrange a party dress. Now,” she commanded into the receiver, the words leaving no room for discussion. It was an expectation, not a request. “Something... impactful. And have it sent to the mansion by five.”

As always, the day unfolded in a predictable rhythm of meetings and demanding tasks. By late afternoon, she retrieved her car keys from the ever-present secretary, a brief instruction delivered without breaking stride. “Tell the driver he’s not needed tonight. I’ll be driving myself.” With that, she was gone, the sleek lines of her own vehicle soon merging into the Istanbul traffic.

Pulling into the manicured driveway of her mansion, Talia parked the car in the cool stillness of the garage. Stepping inside, the familiar scent of incense and the soft murmur of recitation greeted her. Her mother, Salma, sat serenely on the plush sofa in the living room, her fingers moving rhythmically over the pages as she recited the Quran.

Seeing Talia, Salma’s face softened into a warm smile. “Assalamu alaikum, Talia,” she greeted her daughter.

“Walaikum Salam, Ummi,” Talia replied, sinking onto the sofa beside her mother, a sigh escaping her lips.

“Let me get you some water, dear,” Salma said, gesturing to the nearby maid. A glass was promptly brought, and Talia drained it in one long gulp.

Salma’s brow furrowed slightly. “You shouldn’t drink so quickly dear. Are you feeling alright, my dear? You seem a little... tense.”

Talia, already scrolling through her phone, offered a vague hum in response, her attention elsewhere. “Just a long day, Ummi.”

A soft chime echoed through the hallway, announcing a visitor. “That must be the designer,” Talia murmured, gesturing towards the entrance.

Her personal designer, a petite woman with a portfolio clutched in her hands, entered the living room. She laid out a selection of dresses, each one a vibrant splash of color and intricate design.

Salma observed the array with a questioning gaze. “What are all these dresses for Talia? Another business engagement?”

“It’s a party tonight, Ummi,” Talia explained, her eyes already scanning the garments. “A business gathering.”

Salma’s expression grew thoughtful. “Are these dresses... appropriate, Talia? Perhaps something a little more modest?” Her eyes held a gentle plea. “Why don’t you consider an abaya, dear? You will look so beautiful in them. So elegant.”

Talia’s attention snapped back from a sequined number. “Ummi, this is a business party. I need to look the part,” she stated, her tone brooking no argument. She quickly selected a beige frock with long sleeves, its simplicity a stark contrast to the more flamboyant options. “I’ll go with this.”

“I’ll go get ready,” Talia announced, rising from the sofa. “I need to leave by five-thirty.”

Salma watched her go, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. Turning to the designer, she said, “Please, have a seat.” She instructed the maid, “Bring some snacks and juice for our guest.” Then, addressing the designer, she asked softly, “What is your name, my dear? And how long have you been designing for my daughter?” A gentle, motherly conversation ensued, a quiet interlude in Talia’s hurried world.

Once the designer had left, Salma made her way to Talia’s room and knocked softly.

“Come in,” Talia called out, already standing before her mirror, holding the beige dress up to herself.

Salma’s eyes swept over her daughter, taking in the elegant dress. “Talia, my dear,” she began hesitantly, “why don’t you wear a hijab? It would look so beautiful on you, It would complete the elegance of the dress.”

Talia’s shoulders stiffened. “Ummi, not tonight. It doesn’t really go with the... the vibe of these events. It’s a business party, Ummi. People expect a certain... image.”

Salma’s voice grew earnest. “My dear, the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, ‘A woman’s entirely awrah (to be covered).’ It is for your protection, my love.” She paused, her gaze filled with affection. “Please, just for tonight? For your Ummi?”

Talia hesitated, seeing the genuine concern in her mother’s eyes. A small sigh escaped her lips. “Fine, Ummi. Just for you.”

Salma’s face brightened. She gently placed a soft, matching hijab on Talia’s head, adjusting it with loving hands. “You look radiant, my dear. Truly beautiful. May Allah protect you.”

Slipping on her high heels, Talia grabbed her purse and kissed her mom’s forehead. “I should get going, Ummi. I don’t want to be late.”

As Talia headed towards the door, Salma raised her hands in supplication. “Ya Allah guide my daughter, keep her safe.”

Coming to the venue, Talia glanced at the rearview mirror, she saw her reflection framed by the hijab. She stared at herself for a fleeting moment, a strange mix of obligation and unfamiliarity swirling within her. With a decisive movement, she reached up and removed the hijab, folding it neatly and placing it on the backseat. Taking her phone and purse, she handed the car keys to the security guard at the party venue and walked towards the entrance, ready to face the evening on her own terms.

The air outside the venue buzzed with the murmur of sophisticated chatter and the clinking of champagne glasses. As Talia walked towards the entrance, the glittering facade of the building seemed to mirror the polished exterior she presented to the world.

Inside, the ballroom was a kaleidoscope of elegant attire and forced smiles. Talia scanned the room, her eyes sharp and assessing, quickly identifying several key figures she needed to connect with.

A familiar voice called out, “Ms. Talia.... so glad you could make it.” Mr. Demir, a prominent investor with a booming laugh, approached her, “You look... striking tonight.”

“Mr. Demir,” Talia replied, her smile practiced and professional. “Wouldn’t miss it. How are the developments in Ankara progressing? I heard there were some... regulatory hurdles.”

“Ah, they are... promising,” Mr. Demir chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Bureaucracy, you know how it is. But enough about business for now. Enjoy the evening, Talia. And do try the canapés; they’re excellent. The salmon ones are particularly good.” He winked and moved on, already engaging in conversation with another guest.

Talia navigated the crowded room with an effortless grace, a predator in her natural habitat. She exchanged pleasantries with various acquaintances, her mind constantly working, filing away information and identifying opportunities.

Suddenly, a voice, smooth and slightly accented, spoke beside her. “Such a vibrant gathering, wouldn’t you agree Ms. Talia?”

Talia turned to face a distinguished-looking man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes. “Mr. Dubois,” she acknowledged, a hint of coolness in her tone. “Indeed. Though I find the ‘vibrancy’ often masks more pragmatic intentions. Especially in this industry.”

Mr. Dubois’ lips curved into a wry smile. “A true businesswoman’s perspective. It’s precisely that pragmatism that makes your company such a formidable player in the market.” He paused, his gaze direct. “I was hoping we could find a moment to discuss the ongoing negotiations regarding the textile imports. The new tariffs are proving... challenging.”

“Of course, Mr. Dubois,” Talia replied, her professional mask firmly in place. “Perhaps after I’ve had a chance to survey the... ‘vibrancy’ a little further. Let me mingle for a few more minutes.” She offered a polite, yet dismissive, smile and subtly steered herself away, her attention already drawn to another group.

Later in the evening, as the music softened and guests began to mingle more freely, Talia found herself cornered by Mrs. Kaya, a socialite known for her sharp wit and even sharper gossip.

“Talia, darling,” Mrs. Kaya purred, her eyes glittering with curiosity. “I saw you arrive alone. No... entourage tonight? Or perhaps a special someone keeping you company later?”

Talia raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “My business acumen is my only entourage that truly matters, Mrs. Kaya. And my schedule is quite... demanding.”

Mrs. Kaya chuckled, unfazed. “Oh, I’m sure. But a woman as successful as yourself... surely there’s someone special who graces your life outside the boardroom? A charming gentleman, perhaps? Or are you entirely wedded to your work?” Her gaze lingered, fishing for information.

Talia offered a tight smile. “My focus is currently on ensuring Talia & Co. remains at the forefront of the industry, Mrs. Kaya. Personal matters are... secondary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with.” She expertly deflected the personal inquiry, her tone leaving no room for further probing.

As the evening wore on, Talia found herself observing the other guests. The forced laughter, the superficial compliments, the underlying currents of ambition and competition – it was a world she knew intimately, a world she had mastered. Yet, tonight, a subtle sense of detachment lingered. The triumphs and the networking felt... less significant than usual.

She found herself gravitating towards a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the throng. The large windows offered a view of the glittering cityscape, the lights stretching out like a million tiny ambitions.

A waiter approached, offering a tray of drinks. “Water, please,” Talia said, her gaze still fixed on the city.

A soft voice spoke beside her. “Beautiful view, isn’t it? It makes you think.”

Talia turned to see a young woman, dressed in a simple yet elegant gown, standing beside her. She hadn’t seen her before. “It is,” Talia agreed, her tone neutral. “Impressive.”

“It makes you feel... small, in a way,” the young woman mused, her eyes also on the cityscape. “All those lights, all those lives... each with their own stories, their own struggles. It puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”

Talia, usually quick with a business-related retort, found herself pausing. “I suppose so,” she conceded, a flicker of something akin to introspection crossing her face. “Life is certainly... complex.”

“I’m Aylin” the young woman offered with a gentle smile. “I work with one of the NGOs that your company supports. The ‘Bright Futures’ initiative?”

“Talia,” she replied, a slight softening in her voice. “Yes, I remember. The education initiative. How is that progressing?”

“It’s making a real difference,” Aylin said, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. “Thanks to your company’s contribution, so many young girls are getting an opportunity they wouldn’t have otherwise. They’re so grateful, Ms. Talia.”

For the first time that evening, Talia felt a genuine sense of warmth. The impact of her company extending beyond profit margins, reaching into the lives of others... it was a different kind of satisfaction. “That’s... good to hear,” Talia said, a rare hint of sincerity in her voice. “Truly.”

Aylin’s smile widened. “It is. It reminds you that there’s more to life than just... this,” she gestured vaguely towards the glittering ballroom. “There’s a whole world outside these walls, with different needs and different kinds of success.”

Talia’s gaze drifted back to the cityscape, the million tiny ambitions now seeming a little less all-consuming. The echo of her mother’s gentle words, the fleeting image of the hijab in her rearview mirror, stirred within her. The noise of the party still surrounded her, but for the first time that evening, a quieter voice seemed to be trying to make itself heard.

Talia’s POV

The air in the ballroom felt thick, a cloying mix of expensive perfume and forced laughter. I moved through the crowd like a ghost, nodding, smiling, making the necessary connections. Mr. Demir’s booming voice, Mr. Dubois’s veiled inquiries, Mrs. Kaya’s relentless probing, it was all a familiar dance, one I knew the steps to by heart. But tonight, the music felt a little too loud, the smiles a little too bright.

Then I met Aylin. Her simplicity was a stark contrast to the ostentatious display around us. When she spoke of the NGO, of the girls whose lives were being changed, a genuine warmth flickered within me, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in hours. It was a reminder that the world extended beyond boardrooms and profit margins.

As the evening drew to a close, I made my polite excuses and slipped out, the cool night air a welcome change from the stuffy ballroom. The city lights glittered below, a vast expanse of ambition mirroring my own. But tonight, they didn’t hold the same allure.

The plush leather of my car seat enveloped me. I started the engine, the familiar rumble a comforting sound. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw it... the hijab I placed it before going in, folded neatly on the back seat. A wave of... something washed over me. Not guilt, exactly. More like a dull ache of obligation. Ummi’s hopeful face, her gentle pleas, flashed through my mind.

With a sigh, I reached back and picked it up. The fabric felt soft, familiar against my fingertips. Almost without thinking, I draped it over my head, the sudden covering a strange sensation after hours of feeling so exposed, so... myself. It felt like putting on a costume, a temporary appeasement.

The drive home was quick. As the heavy gates of the mansion swung open, I pulled into the quiet of the garage. Stepping inside, the familiar scent of home incense and my mother’s subtle perfume wrapped around me.

Ummi was waiting in the living room, her face lighting up as she saw me. “Talia, my dear!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with relief. She rushed forward and enveloped me in a warm hug, her lips pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “Alhamdulillah, you’re home.”

I hugged her back, the familiar embrace a small comfort. “Yes, Ummi.”

She stepped back, her eyes scanning me. “Did you have dinner at the party, dear? You look tired.”

“I had some canapes,” I replied, not wanting to elaborate on the sparse offerings and the even sparser appetite I’d had.

“Just canapes? Oh my dear let me have Melek prepare something for you. A nice warm soup, perhaps?”

“No, Ummi, it’s alright. I’m not that hungry.” The exhaustion was a heavier weight than any physical hunger.

She looked at me, her concern evident. “The party must have been tiring. Remember your Isha prayer my love. And then you should rest, you work too hard Talia.”

A low hum escaped my lips, a noncommittal acknowledgment. I nodded avoiding her direct gaze.

“Go on dear change out of that dress first, you’ll be more comfortable.”

“Okay Ummi,” I said, turning towards the stairs.

The cool air of my room was a welcome contrast to the stuffy ballroom. I laid the hijab on my dresser, a beige rectangle against the polished wood. The elaborate dress felt heavy now, a symbol of the facade I had to maintain. The heavy makeup felt like a mask, and I diligently removed it, along with the glittering jewelry.

After a quick wash, I changed into my soft pajamas the familiar comfort a small solace. As I twisted my hair up into a messy bun, securing it with a claw clip, my phone rang. The caller ID flashed a familiar international number, a crucial supplier in Italy.

With a sigh, I answered. “Alessandro Bonasera.” The conversation was immediately demanding, a flurry of logistics and deadlines. I walked out onto the small balcony attached to my room.

The call finally ended, leaving a residue of stress clinging to me. I stepped back inside, the cool air of the air conditioning a stark contrast to the mild night outside. I sat on the edge of my bed, the soft duvet a tempting invitation. My body ached with a bone-deep weariness, the accumulation of a demanding day finally catching up to me. My eyelids felt heavy, the weight of exhaustion pulling me down. Without another thought, my head lolled to the side, and I drifted into a deep dreamless sleep, the unspoken obligation of Isha salah fading into the oblivion of slumber.

__________________

A/N

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒖𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉.

~𝑯𝒁